


Repercussions

by AnOddSock



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Sex, Angst, Blindfolds, Butt Plugs, Collars, Come Swallowing, Death Threats, Dehumanization, Drugged Sex, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Gangbang, Handcuffs, Human Trafficking, Kidnapping, M/M, Manhandling, Multi, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Organized Crime, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painful Sex, Public Humiliation, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Sexual Slavery, Spit roasted, Threats of Violence, Unhappy Ending, Unsafe Sex, threatened with a gun, used as fuck toy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24988333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnOddSock/pseuds/AnOddSock
Summary: Going undercover to write a tell-all article about the rich and infamous crime lord and his mob cronies seems like a good idea... until you get caught. And Killian has been found with no way out, even his quick thinking not enough to talk his way free.And the Boss himself is about to make him an offer he won't be allowed to refuse. Once he's dolled up, dressed up, and drugged up, it's time for the real fun to begin.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 28
Kudos: 294
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Repercussions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlindSwandive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindSwandive/gifts).



> Beware the tags before you dive in, this fic contains serious bodily autonomy violations and multiple people committing heinous acts against our protagonist.
> 
> If that's what you're here for though, enjoy!

He twitched in nervous anticipation while he waited outside the bosses home office. He’d never been called here before. The fact that he had been now, in the midst of party preparations, probably meant nothing.

Probably. 

Maybe?

He jiggled his leg which earned him a glare from the armed escort that had dragged him here. Rubbing his palms back and forth only went so far to calm him, but he didn’t want to irritate the overly large goons with their trigger happy fingers.

By the time he was called in—and he was fairly sure he’d been left to stew _on purpose_ —he was sweaty and rapidly tiring with fraught nerves.

“Take a seat,” the boss gestured, offering one of the two chairs in front of his desk. “Nolan, why don’t you stay too.”

He couldn’t spare much thought for the man with the gun who remained behind him when the real threat lay with the man taking his seat behind the desk. Hal Decker; empire owner himself, the man he owed his tenure here to, the reason for his existence in this house. He’d been able to stay under the radar so far but…

Decker slid a glass of water across the table toward him. “Have a drink.”

He shook his head, cleared his throat, found his voice and said, “I’m good, thanks.”

Eyebrows rose and a smile graced the clean-cut man’s face. He looked to his… _assistant._ There was the distinct sound of a gun being pulled from a holster and he grabbed for the glass with shaking hands.

Shit. Refuse and take a bullet, or drink the unknown substance and remain untouched. He took one sip, and another, nursing the drink gulp by gulp. No-one spoke until it was gone.

“I assume you know why I asked you here today?” 

“No, sir.” He hoped he didn’t. He really hoped he didn’t.

“Perhaps this will refresh your memory?” Decker reached into his desk drawer and brought out a small, black USB drive, twirling it in his fingers, examining it under the lamplight.

Blood drained from his face in seconds, he went cold, and then hot, palms sweaty, heart pounding. He licked his lips, gripped his chair and tried to remember to breathe.

“Quite riveting, everything you have to say on here. A thrilling read.” Decker finally looked at him, eyes ablaze. “Nothing to say for yourself? No journalistic integrity to uphold?”

“H-how do you even know that—whatever that is—is mine?”

Decker chuckled, shook his head. “Are you saying it isn’t? We found it in your things, it’s got your fingerprints all over it, and you’re sweating bullets at just the sight of it.”

“I’m sweating bullets because there’s a guy with a gun behind me and you’re threatening me—”

“Did you hear me making any threats, Nolan?”

“No, sir.”

“No, indeed. I didn’t make any threats. However you, boy, came into my house, my business, took a job under my protection, all so you could write some little exposé on my work, and that of my friends. Very rude, not something I look favorably on.”

“I didn’t!” He protested. Technically true, too. He hadn’t sent the article to anyone. 

“You’re a terrible liar. No matter.” Decker stood, straightened his suit, checked his watch. “That sedative should be kicking in in a few minutes, but before it does I want you to understand the offer that I’m making you.”

He swallowed, mouth dry. Sedative. His fears confirmed. He felt the room tilt, just a little, but reasoned it was probably anxiety making him light headed. He’d really outdone himself this time, got in way over his head. Mob bosses, drug runners, human traffickers, and he’d thought he could get through this unscathed? 

“You’ve got my thumb drive, I won’t say anything, to anyone. I’ll disappear, you won’t ever see me again.” He just had to get out before the drugs kicked in, before he was rendered incapable of moving.

“Are you trying to make a deal with me, boy? I didn’t say I was open to negotiations.” Decker walked around the table, and he tried to scoot backwards, get away, but a set of firm hands pushed him back down into his chair.

The man, in his immaculate pressed suit, leaned against the desk and looked deep into his eyes. His face was impassive, made of stone and cruelty, but there was glee there too. Satisfaction at causing pain. 

“My offer, such as it is. You will attend my party tonight, you will entertain my guests. You will see first hand one of the very things your little curious mind was so desperate to expose.” Here he leaned forward and tapped roughly on the boy’s forehead. “If you do well, and you please me, then I might not have my men take you out into a dirty alley somewhere and pump you full of lead. You can leave here still breathing, maybe beaten to a pulp and no longer aware of your own _name_ let alone anything else, but alive. If you fail to please… well. I don’t think I need to elaborate further, it wouldn’t pretty.”

His breathing sped up and he sank lower into his chair, but he nodded fervently. 

“Your other choice, if you do not wish to attend my event, is that once the drugs take full effect, we put a bullet, right… here.” He poked between the boy’s eyes. “You’ll go to sleep, peacefully, you’ll just never wake up.”

He shook, wrung his hands, his mouth felt incredibly dry and his vision was beginning to swim.

“Tick tock. Pills are kicking in. Which is it going to be?”

“The party,” he croaked. “I’ll go to your party. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Good boy,” Decker crooned, chucked him under the chin. “I knew you weren’t as dumb as you seemed.”

“What will I have to do?”

Nolan chuckled behind him and Decker looked up with a smirk. “I know,” Decker said, addressing his bodyguard, “With his looks, he’ll be an instant favorite.”

“These dark curls are gonna be great for people who like something to hold on to,” Nolan replied, resting a hand on top of his head.

“Hang on, what?” he said, heart in his throat at whatever suggestive thing they weren’t saying.

Decker looked at his watch again, flicked his eyes to his counterpart, barely hiding a grin before he shrugged, and smiled benignly. “Just be good, the rest will be taken care of.”

As terrified as he was, his pulse felt like it was slowing to a sleepy beat. His head rolled back until it rested against the broad chest of the man with the gun—Nolan. He blinked, desperately trying to stay conscious, but to no avail.

* * *

He was aware distantly that things were being done to him. Clothes stripped and taken, water over his skin, being touched everywhere, even having his teeth brushed for him. He couldn’t open his eyes or move, and swam in and out awareness. The sleep clung around the edges of his mind even when he felt more awake, made everything seem dulled and less real.

It was horrible, invasive. _Intimate._

Water sloshed up inside him, his legs spread to accommodate it, and he made his first vocalisation, a strange little whine that caught on his tongue, smothered by the drugs. Something pressed on the back of his neck and he felt pressure, and then nothing.

When he woke again it was to the feel of his limbs being manipulated, arms folded and tied crossed one over the other at the small of his back. He blinked awake as they shifted him upright, unable to move his head. He looked down to find a leather harness already strapped over his upper chest and torso, and two people’s feet next to his own.

“He’s up.”

“Good, I wanna see his face for this next part.” The tone was mocking, and he shuddered, sickened by the implications of everything being forced on him.

He couldn’t connect his brain to his muscles and it surged panic through his mind even as his heart beat in the same slow, steady rhythm. They tipped his head back and someone lifted him into a bridal carry. The shift brought to his attention that there was something inside him too, large and intrusive it felt like it was stretching his lax muscles to the limit. He couldn’t squeeze around, couldn’t even ask what it was, or why—and his own guesses only made him feel worse.

Rooms and corridors slipped past as he tried to twist his arms free and found no give, and no control.

The party rooms were at the back of the house, the middle floor with a large balcony opening from one of them. He’d seen them as he’d helped clean up and move furniture. Tonight was no less opulent than any of the others he’d been around. It just felt worse, sickly, wrong, being dragged into the midst of it lifeless and limp.

Decker was there in a newly tailored suit and grabbed his head by the hair, forcing him to look up.

“Excellent, you’ll stay conscious now, but don’t go getting any ideas, Killian.” He gasped, jaw hanging open and Decker laughed. “Oh yes, we learned your real name, Killian Rose. Make no mistake, you caught my eye and my interest. You shouldn’t have done that.”

Decker leaned in and ghosted his tongue over Killian’s lips, and he wanted to retch. His eyes rolled back in disgust, as teeth nibbled along his lower lip. “I’ll save my taste for another day. Tonight, you’re here for everyone else.”

Killian was dragged off and saw a small Perspex platform, which he was hoisted onto. It took a long time, many pairs of hands and artistic direction from a harried looking man in an open shirt but he was slowly positioned where they wanted him. The harness came in useful, ropes were attached and hauled him upright, while a stiff posture collar clasped closed around his neck to keep his head straight—even with the drugs stealing his strength.

Clear plastic poles with curved pieces at the top were wedged between his body and the platform, they held his weight under his groin, chest, and the leg that had been bent in half and tied. Eventually he was left standing on one leg, arms bound, body contorted until it looked like he was standing on tip-toe.

He supported none of his weight himself, everything supported and held in place for him. He was sweating, and the art director—Antonio, he’d learned his name was—hurriedly wiped him down. There was an actual real life gilded cage across the room in which another young man, barely more than a boy just like himself, was ushered into. Gold chains circled his body and he was spread out to the four corners of the cage. Their eyes met for a moment, and Killian swallowed the lump in his throat. 

This is the kind of thing he wanted to expose, the reason he’d tried to go undercover here in the first place. And now he was caught in the middle of it, unable to help anyone, let alone himself.

Decker came over and beamed, traced the few tears that had leaked from his eyes and plucked at a few of the ropes.

“Gorgeous as always, Antonio. My thanks.” He turned back to Killian. “One final touch, for my guests' privacy, you understand.” 

A thin silk band wrapped around his face and the room went black.

It wasn’t so bad at first. People came in and the room filled with chatter and laughter. He heard drinks being served and soft music started to play. He almost felt invisible. He could pretend he was floating and unseen on the sidelines.

Only then people started to wander by and talk… about _him._ They made comments on his body, and awed appreciative noises over the artistry of his pose. Some even touched. Fingertips walked over his skin, bringing out shivers. He was hyper aware of his nudity and it didn’t go unnoticed either, people touched his cock, lifted his balls. Someone even climbed on the platform with him at one point and he couldn’t move an inch to get away from the body that pressed up beside him.

A reprimanding tone made the body disappear and he near-sobbed in gratefulness.

It hurt in a far-off sort of way. He knew he’d ache fiercely tomorrow but it was muted by the sedative in the moment, he could feel his body straining under the weight of itself and the ropes and joists being the only thing holding it up, but he couldn’t feel the bruises he guessed must be forming or the chaffing that tore at his skin.

He welcomed the ache though, hoped for it, because it would mean he survived the night and made it to the other side. That was his only goal, repeated like a mantra. _Make it through, survive, just hold on until it’s over._

The noise level grew, the heat in the room too, and he wondered how long it had been, with absolutely no way to be sure.

“Decker, I hope he’ll be on offer later, he’s delectable. I can’t wait to get my hands on him.”

A chuckle followed the sentiment and he tried to growl, not succeeding more than huffing out a little puff of air.

“If there’s interest—and there seems to be—he absolutely will be. I do want to teach this one a lesson.” A hand was suddenly cupping his cheek, a thumb rubbing over the saliva that had dripped from his half-hanging open mouth. “I’m sure he’ll be very good.”

His eyes tried desperately to focus behind the blindfold, thoughts whirling. This wasn’t it? There was more to come? He’d presumed, or maybe hoped, that being _decoration_ was enough. Someone stepped up beside him and he keened. 

Fingers dug into his mouth, forced his tongue aside and two small pills were dropped there. 

“This should get you nice and ready.” The hand retreated, only to reach around and tap suggestively at the plug that was buried inside him. He whined again, and managed an aborted little jerk.

Killian would have been thrilled at the progress of feeling his body coming back online, but the pills started to dissolve beneath his tongue and all he could taste was bitterness, and his own fear.

As the new drug worked into his system the old effects eased, and he gained the ability to twitch, to swallow. Which he did, over and over again with nerves as he felt arousal grow. A thief that stole more autonomy from him, it filled his cock with blood and lit up his body with sensation.

He was hard and desperate, and the pain that seeped back into his limbs in increments didn’t dull it at all.

* * *

When he was moved later it wasn't gentle. He squeaked, twisting as much as his newly awakening body allowed, as unknown men unhooked and untied him. The stiff collar was taken and his one folded leg freed. He was carried a short distance and then dropped onto a hard, low surface. No-one untied his arms and he was laid on his back, his full weight pressing down onto them.

“Please,” he mumbled, only it sounded weird, wrong. Barely a word at all.

They pushed and pulled until he was balanced with his ass hanging off one end of the table, and his head half-supported and lolling at the other. They pulled his ankles out and to the side and silky smooth rope wrapped and tightened around them. 

It left him with his back curving slightly over the bulk of his bound arms, his legs folded in half and spread, completely immobile again. Someone tapped him on the face once, then harder—more of a slap. His cheeks were squeezed until his lips puckered and he groaned low from the back of his throat.

“All ready, trussed up nice and good. You’re gonna be the star of the show, Killian, just you wait.”

And then they left, with the noise of a door swinging closed. He tried to shift in his bonds and found he couldn’t, tied too tightly and his body still disconnected from his instruction. He couldn’t even pick up the pace of his breathing, just long, even pulls of breath.

Voices and laughter swirled and grew in volume, ebbing and flowing; muffled now and further away. And then a door slammed again. People nearby. He flinched as someone touched his legs, stroked fingers up his thigh.

“Pretty thing isn’t it?”

“Pretty desperate.”

A hand pressed down on his straining erection and he flushed with shame and would have wept, only he didn’t seem capable of making tears. Too deep in shock, too trapped in survival. He didn’t _want this._ But he was aroused beyond recognition, throbbing and yearning.

Fingers touched his face, caressed down his bare neck and across his shoulder. They dipped into his mouth. He pushed at them, weakly, with his tongue, and they only pressed down harder, thrust toward his throat until he gagged.

“He’s going to be ruined by the end of the night.”

He whined. Please, no.

“He will if I have anything to say about it.”

Rough quick hands grabbed for his hips, he felt someone lining up, the heat and weight between his legs. 

“Nnn…” he moaned.

“Shh, Pretty, don’t ruin this with talking.”

There was a wet sucking pop as the plug inside him was pulled out and he clenched, strained, tried to twist away but something else was forced inside before he could even gasp. The black behind the blindfold exploded in white and flashes of color as pain rocked through his body. It was too big, too fast, he wasn't ready.

He screamed, writhed, the cock—hot and heavy, bruising—rammed into him without a care. 

A hand smothered his scream, pinched his nose too to make him buck, looking for space to breathe.

People laughed. They _laughed_ as he struggled under the weight and force of the fucking. He felt it all the way, every inch, every second, and they laughed.

Two more hands plucked at his nipples, rolled his balls and he tumbled headlong into the arousal, happy to lessen the pain. The pace picked up and a hand closed around his throat and pressed on his pulse points, feeling the quickened _thud thud thud_ of his heart. His breath was shallow now, tiny gasps, never filling his lungs enough.

The panic of unseen, numerous people who wanted to fawn over and use him finally broke through the sway of the drugs. He felt them wearing off, little by little but it was no help, he was still trapped. Still tied down. 

He didn’t have a choice in any of it but he had to survive mentally, too. Hold on to himself. Time warped fluidly around him as the first man used him to completion and he cried pitifully as he felt himself be filled.

He slipped away a little, and wondered if checking out would be what it took to get through this intact.

“Me next,” someone growled. Just as someone else said, “I ain’t waiting.”

And another cock pressed against his hole, slicked by what was left inside him. And a firm pair of hands tipped his head at the same moment, eased his jaw wide and then the round, hot head of a cock pushed past his lips. Settled on his tongue.

He groaned, tried to turn away and the cock thrust deeper as a man said “Nah ah, take it.”

His arms burned, and it was strange to focus on that but being jolted from below and forced to tilt his head backward added pressure and he whined, tried to kick.

“Look at him, bucking like a horse,” someone slapped his belly and he jerked, forcing his mouth further up the shaft of the cock in his mouth until he gagged.

“Do that again.”

As he was taken at both ends the men found a rhythm, and he was subjected to pinches and prods, and the occasional stroke of his cock that sent gooseflesh racing across his skin. His arousal never waned, even with the pain, nor even as the man in his mouth started cutting off his air. He learned with a cold swell of dread what Nolan had meant earlier as the man above him wrapped his hands in Killian’s hair and used it as a firm hold to fuck deeper and deeper.

“He can’t even gag, he’s that loose,” the disembodied voice of his attacker said. “Ummf, fuck, can bury myself all the way in here.”

His throat swallowed the man’s cock like he was greedy for it. He couldn’t breathe, but he couldn’t constrict around the intrusion either.

How could he feel so much and do so little?

They used him until they had their fill, and he had no choice but to swallow against the relentless stream that filled his mouth. He wanted to hack at the taste, the texture, the dual sensation of more come being pumped into his belly, his ass, streaking over his thighs as the man pulled out.

A hand clamped over his lips and forced his jaw closed. “Swallow. All of it. Boys don’t get to spit.”

He weakly shook his head, but there was no way to fight back.

* * *

The evening went on, and on, and he was left for stretches of time in which he explored how far the effects of the sedative had worn off. He could wiggle his toes, roll his head, jerk in his bonds. No way to get free, but his body became his again.

His arms were numb, his feet not far behind. His lips tingled and his ass hurt.

When he was alone he hated it, tensely waiting for more violations. And when he was being used and touched he craved the muffled quiet of being forgotten about.

He lost count, listless and exhausted, of how many men— and maybe some women if the plastic dildos that he’d tasted and felt were anything to go by—had touched him, been inside him. And he was still rock hard, sensation beyond anything he had ever felt and still he was denied.

They got rowdier as the night went on, rougher and quicker and he felt nails scratch him as bruises blossomed too. Eventually someone took pity on him, hefted him until he was bent in half and untied his arms, before laying him down and hauling them over his head to be tied off to the other legs of the table. He thanked them, and cried. And hated himself for it.

“Doing good kid, boss is happy.”

So, Nolan then? Or one of the other bodyguards?

“How long?” He mumbled.

“Shit is coming round?”

“Seems like, get another shot, quickly.”

“No-no. Please!”

“Quiet down, you gotta be pliant, it’ll make it easier. Trust me, you want this to be easy.”

A pinch, a small sharp sting. 

“Noooo,” he cried, tried to pull away but the hot liquid suffused him and he floated away again, just a vessel, just a body.

* * *

He wasn’t knocked out, that time, it just stopped the receding relief of the drugs leaving his system, leaving him trapped in the same state: no progress made, no control regained. 

His bindings were checked and tightened, so he could continue to be available, nice and secure. There was more touch, another cock, and a fist around his own that made him want to thrash, but his body went nowhere, did nothing. Dead weight, heavy and unresponsive. Except his cock, which twitched happily in the hand around it.

“Can’t believe no one has made him come yet.”

Fingers probed him, found his prostate and stroked relentlessly. He gurgled. A dildo was buried in his throat and he drooled around it, nose pressed to some unknown groin. He was a mess, his hair flat with sweat where it had been wavy curls, his body covered in fluids he didn’t want to think about. 

He was so hard he _hurt_. He wanted to be touched so it would be over, so he might just be able to focus on how wrong this was, how awful he felt, rather than the needed ratcheting up inside him that couldn’t, wouldn’t, spill over.

“I want to see his eyes when he comes,” a woman’s voice said.

They peeled away his blindfold and he squeezed his eyes shut in panic. If he knew who they were that would just be one more reason to kill him. If he could name and shame these monsters he had no hope of freedom and he was hanging onto that thread like a lifeline, he had to get away; just this one party and they’d let him go, right?

“Come on, open them wide pretty boy.”

The dildo in his mouth disappeared in a wet pop and he rolled his aching jaw. A hand struck him across the face and whipped his head to the side. And then the other cheek too. And again. His ears rang and he screwed up his face as he was hit until his cheeks stung and his eyes began to water.

“Open. Your. Eyes.”

It wasn’t until someone slapped his dick that his eyes flew open with shock and the extreme pain. The cock in his ass surged into him and he looked into the face of the man buried inside him and quivered. The sight would be burned into his memory forever.

Except there were more people , too many. The woman above him shoved her strap-on back into his waiting mouth, the person standing to the side stripped his cock in a way that stopped feeling good and started to hurt. His eyes roved between the three of them, and the others, just watching.

“Are you going to cry for me, hmm?” The woman said, stroking his cheek as she cut off air with her toy.

“Make him come, I want to feel him clench,” said the man between his legs.

So they did, and he was powerless to stop it.

He ground his teeth in despairing frustration as his orgasm and the drying come that painted his chest with shame, didn’t abate his arousal. The drugs seemed potent and within what felt like mere minutes he grew hard again.

* * *

He lost the thread after that, lost the reason he was clinging to himself and why he was here. The number of people in the room dwindled and rose again, and he rocked under them, squirmed on their cocks and under their ministrations. But he wasn’t _there_. He thought someone made him come a second time, weaker and less intense but no less demeaning, and after that it was all just over-sensation and touch that felt painful.

He barely noticed as someone untied him, coming back to himself again as he realised he was upright, jolting in a way that felt sickening. A body underneath him, and inside him too, his ass stretched and loose. Too many pairs of hands hauled him up by the harness across his chest and under his armpits, they forced his knees underneath his weight and lifted him up and down and up and down; in imitation of riding a cock, they hefted his limp weight about as he cried and weakly struggled, the motion jarring his teeth and rattling his bones.

He could smell cigar smoke and whisky, sweat and cologne and it was too much. He screwed up his face even as his head lolled on his shoulders.

“I think he’s done after this.”

As his head flopped backwards he saw Decker leaning in the doorway. He held eye contact as the man beneath him came in his ass and then he was dropped to the floor as everyone climbed off and away.

“Bring him to me.”

And they did. Plugged him up, gave him a sip of water, wiped the worst of the mess from his skin and hauled him back into the main room. There was a chair and they arranged him at the foot of it, between the Decker’s knees.

His arms were cuffed behind him to the chair legs and his head laid to rest on the older man’s thigh. He sighed; weary, exhausted, uncomfortable beyond reckoning and unable to move while the drugs flowed through his veins.

Decker laid a hand on his head and stroked through his hair, absently, like a man with a pet. There were guests and conversation, and the occasional pat on the cheek. He couldn’t take in any of it, couldn’t focus. He tried to look around to see where the other boy had got to, to know what had happened to him, but without control of his muscles he mostly ended up staring at the floor.

Eventually Decker tipped Killain’s head back until he could stare up at the man who had done this to him. Fingers dipped into his mouth, soaked in champagne and he swallowed around them, savouring the taste of something other than cock, come, and other people’s sweat.

Slowly his body started to wake again, and he shifted in tiny amounts, getting the weight off his ankle, turning his hands in the cuffs. Decker leaned over and covered Killian’s mouth with one palm. The weight tipped his head further back toward the man’s groin.

“Ple-ease,” he moaned, behind the hand. 

“Just keep sitting there, you don’t have to do anything. Just be still, and silent.”

He closed his eyes, and was allowed to keep them closed.

The volume in the room slowly went down, he heard Decker saying goodbyes, felt the jolt of handshakes happening above him. Periodically a hand would soothe down his throat, rub into his pulse point, stroke behind his ear. It was demeaning to be doted on and soothed like a wounded animal. 

His eyes opened dully, and he was rewarded with more champagne, tipped into his mouth, forced down his throat with a hand that massaged his neck until he swallowed.

He sighed in relief as Decker got up after the last guest left. Left alone he finally had a chance to realise he had sluggish control over most of his body again—for all the good it did him, drained and shaking on the floor with his wrists cuffed.

But it was over. The night was done.

He’d be beaten to a pulp and left to rot now, that’s what they’d said wasn’t it? He wasn’t sure he could take more pain and wondered about asking them to wait until morning and he’d had a chance to recover.

He almost laughed at how absurd that sounded—asking the mobsters to take it easy on you. They’d probably laugh at him too, and he was sick of being laughed at.

“Well now, you had a very good night didn’t you?” Shiny shoes came back into view and he tensed.

“That’s not what I’d call it,” Killian said, without looking up.

A hand shot out and he panted open mouthed as Decker forced his chin up.

“You took to it like a duck to water, made a lot of people very happy.”

“Yeah, I noticed. You’re all _sick._ ”

“Isn’t this what you wanted, an inside scoop? A look at the lives of the rich and infamous who eat young boys for dessert and then spit them out afterwards?”

It was, it had been. Now he just wanted to go home and lick his wounds. His stupid, self inflicted wounds that needn’t have happened if he weren’t so headstrong and determined. “Not writing that story now, I think we both know that.”

“Especially because you don’t even have anyone to write it for. I had my people look into you, you’re not even a journalist, just a college student with a lot of big ideas. As dumb as you are pretty.”

A tear slid down his face and he looked away. He didn’t need someone else to tell him that.

“Does that sting, knowing this was all for nothing? Poor boy.”

“Are we done?” He snapped. Heaved for a breath and looked pleading up into his captors eyes. “I’m sorry, please, I did what you wanted.”

“You did, and you did it wonderfully. So well in fact, that I think we might keep you.”

He inhaled, wrenched away until the cuffs halted his movements. “You said—”

“You didn’t really believe I’d let you go after all you’ve seen and learned did you?”

“I…”

“No, your options here were death or a new kind of life, and you already picked.”

For a _night._ He’d picked for a night! “No, no no, you have to let me go!”

“I don’t think I do. And it’s not like you have family looking for you. No, you’re all alone. No-one will think much of a missing college student who was deep in debt and took a cushy job before deciding to drop out. You probably won’t even be counted as missing, just gone. We’ll get a letter written, maybe a phone call when you’re feeling better, and then you’ll be all mine.”

“I won’t, I won’t do anything you say, I won’t help you kidnap me.”

“With the right incentives people will do a great many things. There are… so, so many ways we can encourage you.” Decker stroked a finger down his cheek and he wrenched his head away to a small tsk. “We’ll beat that reaction out of you for starters.”

A bodyguard came along and uncuffed him and he all but tumbled forward into the waiting arms of the smiling monster before him. He was stroked and soothed as he sobbed and tried futilely to push away.

“Tomorrow we’ll sort out a nice new diet and exercise regimen for you, get you a little slimmer, and nice and limber. I’ll pick out a beautiful collar for you to wear, and we can decide on other little details that will make you even lovelier.”

Hands lifted his chin, a kiss pressed to each cheek, and he yanked himself away only to flop uselessly onto his back.

“You’ll have a week to settle in before I have another gathering, and there are so many ways we can start to break off little pieces of the old you.”

The man stood, kicked him until he rolled onto his side and two strong pairs of hands hauled him upright.

“For now, why don’t we just show you your new room?”

He was dragged, his feet unwilling to support him, and he shouted for help and spat curses until several punches knocked the wind out of him.

“I think we’ll keep you on the drugs for now. Not the sedative and the muscle relaxant, they’ll be dangerous in large quantities. But something to addle the mind might be a good fit for you, take away that sharp edge you’re used to having until you mindlessly follow along. And maybe something to keep you aroused, needy and begging will be a good look. Yes, I think that will do nicely.”

He wept, great heaving sobs, unable to even feel shame at being seen crying. He wanted to fight but his body wouldn’t cooperate and it drove him half mad to be subdued to easily. Decker talked so casually as they walked along gilded corridors and past expensive furnishings. It was surreal, it couldn't be happening.

They came to a small room in a service corridor and he was forced inside. A narrow bed, an empty clothes rail with a small case beneath it, and a barred window were all that filled the room. The bed had a strange black, wedge-shaped _thing_ on it, with leather cuffs dangling off the sides. 

They dumped him on top of it, positioned his body with his legs spread either side of the wedge and his head down, ass up. He thrashed, and they slapped him on the rear. His feet and hands were locked into place and though he struggled he couldn’t break free.

“Please, you don’t have to do this,” he beseeched them, desperate. “I’ll stop, I’ll go far away. Please. Let me go.”

Decker walked into sight, and stroked his trembling body, settled a finger over his lips. “Would you rather die?”

He thought about it briefly and discarded the idea with a shake of his head. Alive, he stood a chance. He refused to die like this, with his ass out and his body ruined by other people.

“Then this is what is going to happen. And no, I don’t _have_ to do it, but it is the best course of action. You’ll be a great addition to my life, until I grow bored of you.”

He wrenched away, trying to find room between him and the man, turning his face into the mattress.

“I know what you’re thinking, that you’ll find a way out eventually, make a break for it. But I promise you that has never worked, my reach extends too far, and my men are too good to let you get loose anyway.”

“This can't be happening, this can’t be happening.” If he said it over and over enough times, perhaps it would be true. 

“Shh. I know this is uncomfortable but you’ll get used to it. You’ll grow to be very good for me, or face the consequences.”

“I won’t be good, I can’t be good, not… not at this.”

Decker leaned over until his breath tickled his ear. “Like this, the only thing you have to do is lie there and _take it._ ”

He turned a tear stained face back to the man in question with horror shaping his features. 

“You’ll be in this position, or spread legged on your back, a lot. It’s all you're good for. Try and sleep it off, we’ll talk more in the morning.”

“W-Wait!” He cried out, jolting and coming up short against the cuffs. “Don’t leave me like this! Please?”

“Why ever not?” The mob boss turned back to him. “You should know that this room is available to my men any time they need to release stress, and you’ll be here to _help_ with that now. I’d take the time to get some rest Killian, before you find yourself in use again.”

“No! Please, I… please don’t, this isn’t right, this is against the law, someone will look for me.” Even as he said it, he knew that last point was a lie, and they weren’t listening anyway.

“You know the score gentlemen, you’ll help our new acquisition settle in I’m sure. He has a lot to learn.”

The door closed quietly behind him, the light went out, and he laid naked and ass up in the pitch black, his pleas unheard, his soft crying ignored, and wondered with cold dread what the morning—and everything after it— would bring.

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Killian, right? A world of horrors awaits.
> 
> I hope this was a good read, and I hope it hit the spot for the prompt I was filling for this challenge. Let me know in the comments, thank you :D


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